Thursday, 13 October 2011
Monday, 3 October 2011
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Out and about
So lately I’ve been out a lot.
From time to time I get into those party modes when I can be out almost every night, barely sleep and go on looking like a zombie, but feeling alive as never before. I get anxious, restless, exhausted and happy. Those nights to remember, except for the remember part.
When I keep having lunch for breakfast.
New York can be a really weird place sometimes. Tuesday Night. Four bars, Rooftop party in the rain, Rib-less vampires in the jacuzzi and Cindy Lauper hanging out in the club like no one’s business.
As sick ( literally ) and tired I usually am on Sundays (The eternal conflict between body and soul. When the spirit screams "go out!" and the body says "fuck you") I still can’t wait for another weekend. Two weeks ago, my friend and I drove to Long Island, where I drank who knows how many vodka-red bulls, stayed up till 5, almost had a heart attack, slept two hours. We got up, bought bagels and coffee and drove to Fire Island early in the morning, to have breakfast at the beach. I don’t have to tell you, how does it make you feel. Atlantic at 9 am…
Maybe it was the summer of poor choices, but oh well. Sometimes you need to dance stuff away.
The scars of your love remind me of us, they keep me thinking that we almost…
Keeping you posted
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
No women no art ??
The history of all times, and of today especially,
Forget to think about themselves.
Louise Otto-Peters, 1849
When it comes to women artists, several names cross my mind - Frieda Kahlo, Georgia O’Keeffe, Lee Krasner, Méret Oppenheim, Artemisia Gentileschi…
Having bachelors in art history doesn’t make one Rosalind Krauss at all, but shouldn’t I know more? Back in college, I remember one of professors almost had a heart attack seeing a pad shaped as a vagina on a poster. I realized, I have put more time and effort in staring at Renaissance Madonnas (waiting for a miracle to happen so I could remember them all) than actually learning something on a subject.
It made me wonder, what did I know about female art anyway?
One of the reasons why I think about it, is tiny book that I have found under the Christmas tree. Women artists published by The National Museum Of Women In The Arts. Museum was incorporated in Washington, in November 1981 as a private, non-profit institution. Collection included pieces gathered for over twenty years by art historians Wilhelmina Cole Holladay and Wallace F. Holladay. In 1983 the museum purchased a 78,810-square-foot Washington landmark, near the White House, formerly a Masonic Temple, and refurbished it. Since then NMWA had hosted countless exhibitions devoted to female art, including most famous one - American Women Artists, 1830-1930 – which took place in the spring of 1987. One of the countries most famous, feminist and art historian, Dr. Eleanor Tufts, was curator for the show. Museum had also commissioned Pulitzer Prize-winning composer Ellen Taaffe Zwilich to write Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra for an opening concert.
Enough with the facts. I’m going through the book :
Middle ages – Saint Hilda of England and Hildegard of Bingen…Nothing, well… I hated medieval art anyways.
Renaissance - Sofonisba Anguissola – according to this book she is considered to be the first women artist to achieve international renown. Ummm yes, right…
Seventeen century – Lavinia Fontana, a daughter of Prospero Fontana. Judith Leyster with very much Franz Hals looking paintings. Rachel Ruysch and Clara Peeters with beautiful, but clearly influenced, by pieces of Netherlands still life masters.
Moving to 18th century, I learn about Elisabeth-Louise Vigée-Lebrun. With her very familiar sounding last name, become one of Marie Antoinette’s favorite painters.
In the 19th century famous female artist was Camille Claudel who studied At Rodin’s studio, and also Mary Cassatt who was discovered by Degas.
In the 20th century things get a lot better, still these names like De Kooning or Delaunay, bring more the sight of Woman and Bicycle and Circular Forms than Rythme ( by Sonia Delaunay) or portraits by Elaine de Kooning.
It’s not a place for me here, to explain why things were the way they were. The matter of the problem has been solved by Linda Nochlin in her essay Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?[1].
Clearly, women deprived of access to education and being put in the social role of look pretty and be quiet (treating the problem very superficially) weren’t able to create truly great art.
But I still get a feeling like we’re trying to prove history wrong.
I haven’t got any problem with feminism and feminists. I do have a problem with any kind of radicalism. When it gets to the point, where I read that female art, actually was as great as male’s one I shake my head in disbelief, as when I read that rescuing children and women from the sinking ship first, is discrimination.
Maybe Copernicus was a woman, but as much as I’d love them to be, Giotto, Michelangelo, El Greco, Titian, Monet and many others, who changed the art within centuries – weren’t.
I’m asking myself another question though.
Where would be Krasner without Pollock, but would we know Pollock without Krasner ? Who would be Kahlo without Rivera, but would we focus on Diego’s murals, without even mentioning story of their marriage? Whose portraits would we admire, if it wasn’t for Rembrandt’s love for his wife Saskia ?
Maybe it is time to admit that female art isn’t better, isn’t worse, isn’t even equal, cause how could it be ?
Sunday, 14 August 2011
Stuck in the Hamptons
This month I changed my address to Sunny Side Av.
Well, to be quite honest, this month I got stuck in a nightmare called the Hamptons.
A lovely place surrounded by the ocean, filled with sun, beaches and three million dollar houses. Where every corner on the street, is as clean as a baby’s bum and every car shiny. The place, where rich New Yorkers are doing exactly the same thing that they have been doing on Madison Avenue. It’s just here they can spend their money wearing flip – flops.
I had my first Hamptons experience last year, and I don’t really recall it with sentiment. I walked around staring at the windows of the shops that I wish I could have afforded. I was seriously looking for something to do. I have to admit there are some cute Victorian houses that I adore, and some beautiful views that I took pictures of. Eventually I ended up spending 10$ on a slice of pizza, jumped in the car and drove back home, bored to death.
Hamptons is also very WHITE. In every meaning of white. Starting with fashion. I have never, EVER seen such an amount of white shirts, pants and shorts put together with leather sandals and designer sunglasses. Apparently white goes well with the boats, pools and overpriced menus.
The Hamptonians keep their heads up high and wallets thick. They‘re tanned, play tennis and golf. Some New York habits can be seen, especially with honking and screaming at each other, while driving through the tiny crossroads. Yesterday I sat in a park and listened to a conversation of two women next to me. One’s ten year old son took an online test, checking his parenting skills and scored very high. I don’t know about the child of the other woman, but if things don’t go perfectly enough they can always sue the preschool for not preparing the children for Harvard properly ( which actually happened[1] ).
Settled three hours drive from New York, Hamptons seems like a different world. With no room for ugly, different, sad, imperfect and the worst - penniless. Since I’m stuck in here anyways, I’ll just lie on a hammock, counting that maybe in the future, my friends won’t abandon me, when after a nasty divorce I’ll lose my Upper East Side townhouse.
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Greetings from New England
A week has passed, since I have left New York, in search of my New England’s adventure.
Last week, a new country of South Sudan was created, which made all the current maps of the world antique. In Mumbai, seventeen people were killed, over hundred injured, in the terrorist attack. In Spain descendants of Jews, who were forced to convert to Catholicism during the Inquisition, have been recognized by Israeli rabbinical authorities as Jews. New Harry Potter movie had its world premiere. Duke and Duchess of Cambridge travelled around California. In London News of the world was shut down, for hacking and corruption.
And it’s just the scratch…
While the world continued its crazy ride, I started my own. Within one week I visited three states. I had Ghanaian dinner in Burlington. I learned that I’m allergic to cats. I practiced how to pronounce New York with the proper American accent. My feet got burning hot one night. I was told that moose are mystic creatures, like a unicorn – everyone knows about them but no one has ever seen them. I took a mushroom for a bug. I’ve found out about the existence of the places with names like Worcester and Peabody. I sat in a rocking chair, on the porch of the Victorian house, listening to Ella Fitzgerald, thinking how great life was. I drank Irish tea in Plymouth, and ate almond croissant in Salem. I stood on the shore of Golden Pond. I got bitten by mosquitoes countless times. I cut my foot on a rock, swimming in Lake Chaplain. I tasted carmel ice-cream at Ben and Jerry’s factory even though I don’t really like carmel. I memorized Sigh no more. I wondered, what’s the difference between hip hop and rap. I walked the floors of Gropius’s House in Lincoln. I wandered the streets of Beacon Hill, and it felt like being in the XIXth century, in London. I rode a bike through a lovely town. I smelled Peruvian coffee in the morning, and had three cups of it for breakfast. I sent postcards to three continents. I had pillow thrown at my back from the second floor. I found my favourite word on an art gallery wall, and a wooden Coca-Cola box in an antique shop in Exeter, New Hampshire. I walked barefoot on the grass. I smoked cigarettes…Another Victorian house, another porch. New England je t’aime.
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